Date: Thu, 1 Feb 2001 23:54:42 EST
From: Ivrys88@aol.com
Subject: "Looks Good in Black"
LOOKS GOOD IN BLACK (Tales from the Net series) by K. Nitsua.
Copyright 2001 by the author.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of bondage and domination between
consenting adult males.
"Brandt, you're an idiot," Kevin said. We were sitting in comfortable
overstuffed chairs by the window of our favorite downtown coffeehouse.
Outside, traffic rushed by in the sunny warmth of a late spring afternoon.
"I know it's been rough since Jason left you," he continued. "So I
introduce you to a friend of mine. You go out for a while. Things seem to
be going great. Now you tell me you're dumping him. What the hell's the
matter with you, Rolf?"
"I know, I know," I sighed. There weren't many of my friends who could get
away with talking to me like that. Kevin could tell me things I didn't like
to hear, but had to admit were true.
"I mean, is there something I don't know about Cary? Is he really a jerk in
disguise, or what?"
"No. He's every bit as nice as you said he was."
"Some people are just too fucking picky," Kevin said to the ceiling.
"Well, we can't all be as lucky as you," I retorted, stung.
Kevin had found his soulmate the night he graduated from college. A
professor he had always had a crush on had invited him over for dinner, and
he had never left. They had been together now for years.
He didn't challenge my statement, just shook his head. "You are a hard
case. I thought you guys really hit it off the night of the recital."
He had been after me for months about meeting his friend Cary Walsh. I had
finally agreed to go to one of his recitals at the University, even though
classical music is not really my thing.
When the lights dimmed, a man appeared, dignified and elegant, his black
tails setting off his golden hair. He sat down to play and rich piano tone
flowed from his fingers. One piece in particular entranced me. Its melodies
seemed to shimmer in the higher reaches of the keyboard, now raptly still,
now gently rippling. As the last soft chords died away, I swallowed the
lump in my throat.
"What does that mean?" I asked Kevin, pointing to the sheet of paper in my
hand, as the applause surrounded us.
He smiled. "Why don't you ask him after?"
Backstage I shook Cary's hand, warm from his exertions. Up close, he was
shorter than me, handsome, his face animated.
"Good to meet you, Rolf, thanks so much for coming. Kevin's told me so much
about you."
"I'm not sure that's a good thing," I replied. I felt a discreet swat on my
rear, but refused to reward him with any sign I had noticed. "I really
liked that piece you played right after intermission."
"The Debussy?"
I felt awkward, embarrassed. "I--don't know French. What does the title
mean?"
"`Clair de Lune?' It means `moonlight.'"
The silence of new acquaintances fell between us. Cary tried to fill it.
"Some of us are going out. Would you like to come along?"
"He'd love to," Kevin answered before I could say anything. "And so would
I." I glared at him. He smiled innocently back. "Wouldn't we?"
A while later we were at a trendy, noisy gay watering hole downtown. To my
surprise Cary had kept his tails on, looking like a young butler among the
mostly blue-jeaned, T-shirted crowd. Still, he caught plenty of admiring
glances from the regulars, unused to seeing such effortless class in their
midst. I felt big and stupid next to him, but oddly enough, he seemed to
like me.
"We did hit it off," I said to Kevin now, a few months later. "What can I
say? Things change."
He wouldn't let it go. "You guys are great together."
"I don't know what it is. I feel like he's too good for me."
Kevin snorted with disbelief. "An inferiority complex? You? Please." He
added, darkly, "Just be gentle when you do it, or you'll answer to me."
I wasn't being honest with him, of course. I was looking for something
else. Being the tall stud with the German name, the top, wasn't enough
anymore. I had enthralled and intimidated smaller men with ease, and fucked
them silly in bed. Now I longed for one to turn the tables and give me a
taste of my own medicine.
What I also didn't tell Kevin was that I'd found a man who I thought could
give me what I wanted.
It happened one night online, in the "Dungeon M4M" chatroom. His screen
name leaped to my eye: LitlTopMn. Little top man. I quickly scanned his
profile--he lived in town. My breath quickened as I read what he had
written as his occupation: "Bringing bigger men than me to their knees."
I sent him a message, asking permission to address--it was granted. Before
long I realized I had found the genuine article. LitlTopMn was not a
dimwitted brute, but a master manipulator. He was cagey, telling me little
about himself other than his name: Claude. Yet, I sensed an intelligence
about him that enticed me into more and more self-revelation. Over the next
few weeks, I laid my deepest desires bare in front of my master, who
promised to fulfill them--in good time.
"When?" I asked, frantic for an actual meeting.
"When your master decides the time is right," he typed back. I could almost
hear him chuckling at my frustration.
I could think of nothing but Claude, and the ecstatic torments he dangled
tantalizingly before me. Cary's charm and even his piano playing paled in
comparison. Things came to a head over dinner, a few days after my
conversation with Kevin.
"Look," I finally said after the uncomfortable meal, "Maybe we should, you
know, put things on hold for a while."
As insensitive as I was, I imagined Cary felt exactly as I did. I was
dismayed to find his eyes brimming.
"Why, Rolf?" he managed after a long moment. "I like you a lot. I thought
you liked me, too."
I floundered, mouthing cliches that sounded hollow even to me. "You're a
great guy, Cary. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not the one for you."
"Bullshit," he said flatly. "There's someone else, isn't there."
"Well--there is." I tried, clumsily, to tell him the truth. "Look--I'm not
what you think I am. There's stuff going on inside of me you don't want to
know about."
"And you won't even give me a chance and tell me about it." Then he was up
and gone.
I dialed Cary's number several times over the next few days to apologize
and ask for another chance. But I always cut the connection before the call
went through.
Then one night when I logged on there was an e-mail waiting from
LitlTopMan:
Rolf: You say you want to experience total submission. You say you're ready
to put yourself in my hands. The time has come. Meet me in Bull Creek Park
this coming Friday night just before closing time. Get out of your car and
walk toward the creek. I'll be waiting for you. Claude.
All thoughts of Cary flew out of my mind. I remember very little about the
next few days except the feverish anticipation. Finally Friday night
arrived. I drove to the park Claude had mentioned, situated on the banks of
a creek in the northern outskirts of the city. Green and pleasant during
the day, it was notoriously cruisy by night.
The parking lot was shaded by trees. It was almost empty, except for a
U-Haul truck parked facing out at the far end. Manuevering my own car into
a space, I stepped out and began to walk into the woods, toward the creek,
as instructed.
I passed by the public restrooms, dark and silent. As I continued to move
toward the water I sensed movement behind me. Wheeling around, I saw that
someone had emerged from the men's room and was watching me.
I stared at the stranger, a slim and compact silhouette in the dim light. A
thrill ran through me as I was able to make out how he was dressed: a loose
black vest that left his chest bare, black chaps, black boots. Through the
gap in the front, I saw the swelling pouch he wore underneath. His head was
covered by a hood that completely obscured his face other than openings for
his eyes, mouth, and nostrils. I was face to face with Claude at last.
He tossed his head back, indicating that I was to follow him, then turned
toward the parking lot. I walked after him without hesitation. Although
Claude didn't have a weapon, or any way to compel obedience, I was
completely under the spell of this faceless figure in black leather.
Staying in the shadows underneath the trees, we approached the truck I had
seen earlier. Finally we were there and Claude grasped the handle on the
back hatch of the U-Haul. He jerked upward and the door slid open with a
loud, protesting rattle.
Claude turned back toward me and gestured, commanding me to enter the
compartment. My breathing was fast and shallow, my heart pounding. After a
moment's hesitation I placed my foot on the bumper and hoisted myself into
the shadows. I heard him following me inside. A moment later I froze as the
door rattled downward and thumped shut, leaving us in utter darkness.
Panicking, I opened my mouth to shout for help, but an arm encircled my
chest and a hand clamped down on my face with crushing force. All that
emerged from my throat was a muffled squeak.
A whisper sounded in my ear, gentle and chilling. "You said you trusted
me. Are you willing to prove it?"
My mind was racing. Wasn't this exactly what I had told Claude I wanted?
Despite my fear, I realized I was aroused to fever pitch, my cock pressing
painfully against the front of my jeans. In a split second I made my
decision and nodded, relaxing my body to indicate acquiescence.
There was a click and the compartment was filled with dim red light. It was
larger than it appeared from the outside, sufficient to hold the two of us
and one other object. In the center of the metal floor stood what looked
like a sawhorse, except that its sloping sides were built of solid wood,
and the top was wide and seemed to be padded. Two loops of some dark
material were attached to the side I could see.
Slowly my captor relaxed his grip, but stayed close. I tried to look at him
but a firm hand prevented me from turning my head.
"Keep your eyes front. Strip and mount the bench, face down."
As I pulled off my T-shirt, the hooded figure behind me bent down, untied
my sneakers and pulled them off, tossing them across the floor of the
truck. Next, my socks were removed. Caressing hands moved up my legs and
across my crotch as Claude stood. He raked his fingers lightly across my
bare stomach and chest, tickling my nipples. My breathing deepened at the
pleasurable sensations and I leaned back against him, only to jump with a
startled cry as he pinched one hard enough to hurt.
Quickly Claude unbuttoned the fly of my jeans and pushed them down my
thighs. My hard cock sprang free as it was exposed. Stripping them off of
my legs, he pushed me forward with a hand on the back of my neck,
compelling me to climb onto the strange bench. It was tall enough that my
feet barely touched the floor when I was on top of it.
"Hold onto the front with your hands," came the whisper. I obeyed, and just
as I realized what the loops on the sides were for, they were fastened
around my wrists, pinioning me to the apparatus. Then my ankles were lifted
off the floor and bound to the sides as well, forcing me into a crouching
position with my knees bent and legs spread wide apart, as if I were riding
a horse bareback.
There was a pause, as if Claude were examining his handiwork. Then, he
moved toward the side wall. Daring to look up, for the first time I saw a
bag hung there from a hook. I saw Claude extract a hood similar to what he
was wearing, then what looked like a small stick with a loose rope hanging
from the end. Claude bent close to me and grabbed the hair on my head, none
too gently, as he whispered again in my ear.
"You've told me all about what you wanted, Rolf. You should have been more
careful what you wished for." A soft chuckle. "We'll see if you're man
enough to take it."
He raised the stick in front of my face. "My best rawhide quirt." He must
have seen my eyes widen, for he added, "Time to put this on," and slipped
the hood over my head. I realized there were no eyeholes, and began to
struggle and shout. This was a mistake, as Claude slipped a thick
cylindrical object between my open lips--a short dildo attached to the
lower flap of the hood, making an effective gag when he pulled it tight and
fastened it across the lower part of my face. Now my muffled protests were
inaudible to anyone but my tormentor.
Claude let me struggle until I realized it was useless. My breathing was
hampered by the gag and I was exhausting myself as well. Finally I stopped
and hung my head downward, my chest heaving.
"Let's begin."
I held myself absolutely still. The hood was partly blocking my hearing,
and I strained for some clue as to what he was going to do. After a moment
I felt the light touch of the quirt on my backside, moving slowly across my
cheeks.
"Nice ass," Claude said. Suddenly I shrieked into the gag, my head snapping
up, as the whip struck my butt sharply.
"Nice."
He continued, keeping me off balance, lightly stroking my nipples, butt
cheeks, or my cock and balls hanging down between my spread legs, for long
moments, using either the quirt or his hands. Every time I began to give in
to the pleasure, the crack of the rawhide on my back or ass jerked me
back. Several times he aimed a series of strokes at the same spot on my
butt as I screamed uselessly for him to stop. Just as I thought I could no
longer bear the pain he would desist, stroking the very place he had
assaulted as I whimpered into the gag, tears starting from my eyes.
Finally the rain of caresses and blows stopped. My ass was on fire. Harsh
breaths whistled through my nose, spit was running out of my mouth around
the gag, and my cheeks were wet with tears of pain. My cock was straining
against the back of the bench, harder than I could ever remember it being.
I felt a moist, probing finger in the crack between my cheeks. It found my
asshole and slipped in. It was withdrawn and I felt a larger, blunter
object push against the opening. Soon new fires were searing my insides as
Claude fucked me, drilling my hole with such force that I grasped the front
of the bench with my hands for dear life.
I felt heat welling from within, then cum dribbling from my cock. His
assault had forced an unwilling climax out of my body. Claude's thrusts
increased to a frenzied pace and I heard, or rather sensed, a low, animal
growl rise from his throat. He bent down and gripped me around my chest
with his arms, squeezing the breath out of me. I felt his hot breath on my
neck. The scent of leather, mixed with sweat and a faint, incongruous hint
of aftershave filled my nostrils.
I don't know how long we remained locked together in this position,
conqueror and conquered. The compartment was hot and close, and I was dizzy
from lack of oxygen. Just as I thought I might pass out, Claude rose and
pulled himself out of me. I heard him moving toward the back of the
truck. The light was snapped off, and the hatch rattled partway open,
letting in a welcome blast of cool fresh air. Was he going to release me
now?
To my horror, Claude jumped out and the hatch slammed shut, leaving me in
blackness. I renewed my struggles to no avail. In front of me, I heard the
cab door open and Claude climb in. A moment later it was banged shut, the
engine roared to life and we began to move. I had no idea what was going to
happen to me.
After the longest ride of my life we slowed and came to a stop. The engine
was shut off. A moment later the rear hatch slid open once more, and
someone stepped up into the cargo hold. I braced myself for new, unknown
torments but couldn't keep from flinching as a hand fell on my bare
shoulder. However, all my captor did was lean forward until his head was
close by my right ear.
"I'm going to untie you now. We've traveled a bit, as you can tell. If you
do exactly what I say, I'll take you back and release you, unharmed. Any
trouble, and I'll throw you out and leave you here, just as you are. Got
it?"
I had no idea how far we had come, not to mention where my clothes were. I
nodded quickly.
"Good. Now hold still."
I felt a strip of some material being placed around my neck. Claude pulled
on it and drew it tight, fastening it in place. Then I heard rattling and
felt the touch of cold metal on my back as he attached a chain to the
collar. A moment later I grunted as my head was pulled up by a hard tug on
the leash. Holding me in this position with one hand, he pulled at the
restraints that held my wrists and ankles one by one. Soon I sensed that my
limbs were free, and let my cramped arms and legs dangle, shaking them
slightly. Other than that I kept still, remembering his threat.
"Up on your feet. We're going for a walk."
Motivated by another sharp pull on the chain, I slid backward off the bench
to which I had been strapped, dropped to the floor of the van, and crawled
backwards toward the opening, being careful to keep my head down. Moments
later I was standing shakily on what felt like asphalt, still naked and
hooded, the night air cool on my inflamed skin.
"Hands behind your back. I'm fastening your leash to the bumper, so don't
try anything funny."
I obeyed, and my wrists were bound. I heard the rear hatch being slammed
shut, then felt a tug as Claude grasped the chain again. Abruptly he began
walking, causing me to stumble and almost fall as I struggled to keep up
with him. My heart pounded as I was forced to march, completely dependent
on my master for guidance. After a while Claude's hand on my chest stopped
my progress. I sensed that we were next to some structure, a building. I
heard more rattling of metal, then a sound which I recognized as a key
turning in a lock, followed by the groaning squeak of metal hinges. We were
passing through what was obviously a heavy door. I heard it fall shut
behind me. Where on earth were we going?
Claude continued to walk rapidly, giving me no chance to collect myself. A
minute later he said a single word: "Stairs." My feet touched cold metal
and we began to ascend. My breathing became labored from our rapid pace. I
stumbled again, and a strong arm caught me.
"Please," I said into the gag, my chest heaving. I felt a hand caress my
cheek.
"Hang on. We're almost there."
Disoriented by this gesture of mercy, I struggled once more to my feet.
Sure enough, a few more icy steps and we were on level ground again, on
what seemed now to be a wooden floor. We stopped, and I heard Claude pull
one more door open, easily this time. He pushed me through the opening. All
I could tell about where we were was that it was a large, even cavernous
space. Behind me, I heard him fasten the chain to the handle.
"Stay here and don't move."
Then he was gone. I stood, knees trembling, trying to get a grip on
myself. I was exhausted, and freezing.
Suddenly I sensed light trickling underneath my hood. I realized that
whatever space I was standing in had previously been dark, and was now
brightly illuminated. I heard footsteps some distance away. They stopped,
and there was dead silence. Just as I felt I could no longer stand the
suspense, it was broken.
I heard music fill the air. Sweet music. Piano music.
After a moment I recognized it--"Clair de Lune."
What had been a welter of blurry thoughts began to come into focus. I was
on a stage, and that had to be Cary playing. He and the mysterious Claude
were in cahoots, playing some insane trick on me. Anger rose, and I began
to struggle and twist against my bonds, trying to shout, succeeding only in
making strangled noises into the gag.
The music broke off and footsteps came rapidly toward me. Strong arms
caught hold of my writhing body. "Easy, easy," a familiar voice said. "I
thought you liked Debussy."
I stopped struggling and held still, daring him to release me.
"I can tell you'd love to take a swing at me," Cary said, suppressed
laughter in his voice. "Better take the hood and gag off first, don't you
think?" he said, and I realized there must be a third person nearby. Let me
at them, I raged.
A moment later the hood was unsnapped and lifted off my head, the gag
pulled out of my mouth. I flinched and lowered my head at the blaze of
unaccustomed light. After a few moments I raised my eyes--and gaped,
stunned at the sight in front of me.
It was Cary, his blond hair tousled, looking hot in black leather vest,
chaps, thong, and construction boots. In his hand he held the hood he had
just taken off of me. My eyes flashed over his shoulder to the grand piano
he had been playing, on top of which rested another, discarded hood--the
one he had been wearing tonight until a few minutes ago.
I turned, looking for the person Cary had addressed, and got another shock
as I saw Kevin, dressed normally, standing on the floor of the large
auditorium we were in. In one hand he held a bundle which I recognized as
the clothes and shoes that had been stripped from me, at the beginning of
this escapade that I still hadn't fully figured out. He smiled blandly,
betraying nothing.
Cary spoke again. His voice, though still lighthearted, betrayed a hint of
uneasiness. "I guess this is where I say, surprise! Eh, Rolf?"
I stared at him, still speechless.
"I'll release you and explain everything. But only if you promise not to
get violent, okay? Even though you have every right to."
Another beat, then I nodded. Cary undid my wrists, and removed the collar
from around my neck. Finally I found my voice.
"When did you know it was me?" I demanded hoarsely.
"Pretty soon after we started chatting. I should have let you know it was
me, too. But--"
"Why the fuck didn't you?"
Cary shifted his weight uneasily, looking at the floor. "I don't know,
Rolf. At first, I was amazed that we were into the same secret scene--kind
of tickled, actually. The thought of a hunk like you wanting to be
dominated--that was hot. It was fun playing along.
"Then you told me you wanted us to stop seeing each other. From the hints
you dropped I realized you were dumping me for, well, me. Things had got
out of hand and I didn't know what to do. I went crying to Kevin and ended
up spilling the beans about what was going on between us online. Kevin
cracked up. He cooked up this little scheme and offered to help."
I looked over at Kevin. "I might have known."
Kevin shrugged. "I warned you. Fuck with Cary and you answer to me."
Cary said, "I guess I was mad enough at you to go along with it." His voice
dropped. "I won't lie, Rolf. I enjoyed it. A lot."
I looked at him, remembering the thrill that had run through me when the
dark, lithe figure had emerged from the shadows, how my heart had pounded
as I let myself be bound to the wooden bench inside the truck. I felt again
the stinging pain of the quirt as it descended on my butt, and the driving
heat of Claude's, no, Cary's cock as he took me.
"Looks like he enjoyed it too," Kevin said. He had mounted the stage and
was coming toward us, pointing a finger at the rising evidence between my
legs.
"Fuck you," I said. I turned to Cary, gazing anxiously at me. "And I
thought you were too classy for a lowlife like me." I looked him in the
eye. "I guess this changes things--Claude."
I saw the dawning comprehension in his eyes, the smile forming on his lips.
"I just hope," I added, deadpan, "you don't use that whip on your piano
students."
Cary laughed. A moment later his arms were around me, and I was drinking in
the aroma of sweat and leather once more as we kissed.
"Very touching," Kevin said, thrusting my clothes at me, "but University
security makes rounds of this building at night. Get decent and let's blow
this joint before they bust us."
We rode back to the park, Kevin driving and Cary and me snuggled shotgun.
Kevin had, of course, been along for the entire ride. He had been sitting
at the wheel of the U-Haul while Cary worked me over in the back, ready to
drive off had anyone gotten suspicious.
"Damn truck was shaking like an earthquake hit it," he grinned at Cary, who
ducked his head bashfully.
He dropped us off and went to return the U-Haul with its cargo--I never did
find out to whom. I forgave him eventually. After all, he did bring Cary
and me together--twice. As for Cary, I gave him some more grief for setting
me up and playing me for a fool. But my body hadn't lied in the back of the
truck that night, and we both knew it.
It's been years since all this happened. Living with Cary, I've heard a lot
of classical piano music. "Clair de Lune" is still one of my favorites. He
sometimes plays it as an encore when I am in the audience. Sitting in the
dark, I smile. Cary still cuts a fine figure in his white tie and black
tails.
But I know what's underneath the formal concert wear. That's for later,
when the audience is gone and I have him all to myself.
The man I love looks good in black. Whatever the material.
END